


rifts in the sky

by HappyPrincess



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Non-Binary Harry, Other, girl!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 01:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17315591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyPrincess/pseuds/HappyPrincess
Summary: Harry’s touch is light and careful. And so familiar. They have caressed Louis’ face in thousands and thousands of different instances, have traced every inch of her body, and yet, the rough pads of their fingers make a new variation of love bloom in her chest every time. “Are you going to make me sleep on the couch?”





	rifts in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I think I need to get some thoughts out before I can start writing proper stories again. So. Another sad drabble with a cheesy ending, yeehaw!
> 
> I'm not sure about the category, since it's not multiple people in a relationship and "other" seems so dark. (It's mainly that black icon, who came up with that?) So another opinion would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Not brit-picked, unbeta-ed, written in comic sans, and other crimes. 
> 
> Love xx

There is always _something_ about offering your heart to a stranger in a dingy coffee shop at 3pm. A thrill. A crack in the monotonous pavement of everyday life. The bewildered blinks of a barista caught by surprise. The shaded sun through the high windows, a flashy movie on the silent TV above the counter. It’s just a square of bright colours among the yellow tiles and green tapestry and chequered table cloths, just as gaudy and glitter as the rest of the place, and yet it holds Louis’ attention captive. She’s talking, absentmindedly shredding the thin paper napkin to flaky pieces, even aware of the dirty dishes by her elbow, but mostly she’s staring at the screen, tracking the movements of a couple dancing through the streets.

Inside her pocket, her key presses against her thigh.

“I really, really don’t want to go back, but at the same time I know I have to talk to them – it's not like I think I’m in the wrong, but I definitely do know that if I won’t bring it up, they sure as hell won’t.” The scene changes to another couple sitting on a bench in front of a city skyline. Their hands are barely touching. “This has happened before, you know? A few months back. And somehow, we got over it without talking about it, which, I guess, that’s not really getting over it, is it? Hm. We just went back to normal.”

The greasy air drops a few amounts in temperature as the bell rings, an icy hand of cold wind striking her against the neck, door falling close with a rattling creak. Instead of leaning against the rack to keep nodding to Louis, the barista moves to greet the newcomer. Before she can say more than a hello, Harry’s gravelly voice cuts her off: “I’m just here to pick her up, sorry.”

Louis groans into the counter, forehead coming to rest against the sticky surface. This is the problem with having only few spots that feel welcoming enough for her to hide in when she’s having a breakdown. And with being ridiculously in love. She’ll have to explore some more neighbourhoods when the weather is appropriate, and not this drowsy state of fog and grey clouds that swell with gathering snow, awaiting to choke them all in a white embrace. Warm fingers sneak over the hairs at the back of her head. They dig into her scalp, massaging the tightness that has spread itself down her spine. “Come home, Baby.”

“D’n wanna,” she says quietly.

Embarrassment clings to the inside of her ribcage. Maybe it’ll go away if she doesn’t look up, if she becomes one with this oily counter. The hand on the back of her neck keeps petting her, occasional swoops along her temples, down her jaw. As if it’s brushing away the stubborn remains of frustration and worries. But now those worries must cling to Harry’s fingers, to those lovely rings, to those short nails.

“You can make hot cocoa for us, and you -… we’ll apologise to each other, and then we’ll have mind-blowing sex, and then we’ll be alright. Yeah?” There’s a hollowness in Harry’s voice that builds up whenever they keep their emotions at bay. It breaks Louis’ heart a little.

“We don’t have any milk.”

“Yeah, we do. I bought some yesterday.”

Yesterday. When Louis was busy staring at her laptop, vision fraying at the edges, body fraying at its seams, heart fraying into thousands and thousands of guilty little scraps. She groans and lifts her head, hiding her eyes behind her palms. A piece of napkin sticks to her chin. “I love you, you know that, right?” God, she sounds so needy. So tinny. About to cry.

Harry huffs. “C’mon, Lou. You know I do.”

“Good,” she whispers and blinks away the tears. Then she clears her throat, avoids the inquiring gaze of the barista, and turns around. Harry’s hand slips from her neck, and their knees collide, but now she gets to take in the ashy, spotty beauty that is their face, brows furrowed, and lips dried by the wind, their nose a blotchy red. The desperation in their expression is accentuated by the pale lighting in the coffee shop. “You need to stop coming after me, you know?”

Their mouth twitches. “Coming after you? I’m always the first to come. Besides, this is only the second time.”

This is so very Harry, making it sexual when Louis tries to have an earnest conversation. Or, well. Actually, that used to be Louis’ thing. Somewhere along those four years their personalities have mushed and overlapped. “I don’t want you to cave in when I’m the bitchy one.”

Harry rolls their eyes, finally something that isn’t calm indulgence. “Remember when you spooned me until I calmed down after I had a strop about the bathroom and refused to cuddle you, literally the day before yesterday?”

Huh. Louis wipes away the piece of napkin and crumbles it between her finger tips. “Because I was the one who didn’t sweep up all those hairs.”

Now Harry outright laughs. The motion of their chest heaving is familiar, their lips puckering, eyes as sparkly as the soup of shame and sadness and sanctity swirling in her stomach. As much as the anxiety tends to grab Louis by the shoulders, seeing Harry express joy will always feel like the both of them are untouchable. Instantly, she buries her fists in their coat and pulls them in. “It was a lot of hairs.”

“So, so many,” Harry agrees easily, caressing the sides of Louis’ freshly buzzed head. “Was almost drowning in them.”

Louis exhales forcibly, before closing her eyes. The sweet smells in the coffee shop clog in her nostrils, pool on her tongue. Behind her, the dishwasher is roaring, water sloshing against metal, a forceful reminder of the here and now. Harry’s touch is light and careful. And so familiar. They have caressed Louis’ face in thousands and thousands of different instances, have traced every inch of her body, and yet, the rough pads of their fingers make a new variation of love bloom in her chest every time. “Are you going to make me sleep on the couch?”

She isn’t usually this needy. But it’s winter and she misses her family and they’ve just moved into this really nice and beautiful flat with a king sized bed and a shiny shoe rack and a comfortable armchair, and they still need a lamp in the kitchen and a place for the spices and a proper pan because sometimes Louis just wants to get up in the middle of the night and make a nice meal for them because she doesn’t know how to express her love and excitement otherwise.

“Who even does that? Do real life couples do that? I’d never do that. We always make fun of those kinda people, Lou.”

Slowly, she inhales. Harry’s scent is mostly covered by the tang of wet wool and the richness of creamy coffee, but their body lotion is a fragrant zing of citrus, strong enough to penetrate all the layers. Louis bites into the coat, then sits up. “I love you.”

Again, Harry grins. “Let’s go, I’ve got the car parked down the street. Where’s your jacket?”

“Didn’t take one.”

“You went out without a jacket? Louis.”

As soon as she hops from the barstool, the muscles in her legs strain in protest. Instead of complaining about it, she leans against Harry’s side, pressing a kiss to their neck. “I’ll just slip under yours, hm?”

Harry flushes and rolls their eyes again but wraps an arm around her and pulls their coat around the two of them. It doesn’t really work and walking through the coffee shop proves to be difficult, they stumble over the yellow tiles, but it keeps them close. She presses her hand into their hip where she could squeeze their love handles if their jumper wasn’t this gigantic and floofy.

The air hits them in the face as soon as they’re outside. “Jesus Christ,” she says, and tucks up the collar of her own jumper to hide her tingling lips and frosted nose.

“It’s just down there, behind the lamp post.”  
Somehow, Harry not making fun of her being cold makes Louis feel like there’s a rock slowly turning into mud inside her chest. They hurry towards the car, dead leaves and brown sludge squelching beneath their boots, just like the sensation of never-getting-things-right must sound if one would put an ear to her heart and listen. Something icy slushes down her ribs.

As she buckles up, she realises she forgot to tip the barista and now she feels like a proper piece of shit, so she clenches her teeth and stares at the crumpled aluminium foil stuck between the window and the door. It flutters when Harry begins to drive, a slow U-turn with the heater humming and the radio coming alive. Only a minute of the news before Louis turns it off.

A few rifts in the sky reveal the first pinks of the setting sun. The clouds have a backdrop of warm colours, soft oranges and yellows burning their edges. Louis sighs.

And Harry sighs, too. “What?”

“Hm?”

“Why’re you being, you know, all mopey again?”

“I’m not.”

They grin at each other. Louis shrugs and settles back into the seat. “I didn’t tip the barista and the sky looks so pretty even though I feel like it’s the end of the world. And. I want your attention.”

Harry shakes their head but it’s accompanied by a small smile. Eyes on the road, they scrunch their nose and switch lanes, big hands loosely wrapped around the wheel. Their rings reflect a beam of heated light, then turn a muted gold as they pass a tall building with a long shadow that stretches before them. “Remember when you used to do all kinds of weird shit to get my attention?”

Louis throws them a look. “Yeah, like last week, you mean?”

Their laugh transfers the air around them into soft vibrations that swoop down on Louis’ shoulders. Finally, her gut relaxes a little.

They drive in silence, only their breathing and the occasional rumble of a belly or scratch of fabric against fabric signs of their presence. She looks at the sky again, as much as she can see anyway, as they pass the naked trees and shabby tenements. Her own flat used to be just a few minutes from here - it was Harry’s idea to move into a new home close to a neighbourhood that was familiar and welcoming.

A few windows are lit in some kind of polished and overpriced restaurant where a Turkish grocery store used to be, next to a hair dresser that seems to have survived the autumn, plastic capes still the same purple, lightbulb in the back still flickering in the darkening afternoon. Last June, Harry almost had a meltdown over their mistreated curls in there.

Harry stops at a red light, their lip between their teeth. “Sometimes I miss, like. You doing anything to make me... To make me laugh.” Quickly, they make a flappy gesture. “Not like you’re not doing that anymore!! You make me laugh every day, and I love you so much, but like. We were so young and dumb. You did some stupid shit. So fucking silly and overprotective.“

Louis’ lungs close up. Just like that. They turn to stone. Somehow, she remains calm. “Well, you’re the only one who misses that Louis. She was insecure and stupid and had so much to learn. I was practically waiting for you to dump me, that’s how anxious I was.”

The engine groans unhappily as Harry shifts gears a bit too harshly. “That’s not my fault.”

“I know it’s not your-”

“Why’re you saying it, then, like. I’m just saying I miss you making me laugh like that and you immediately go into defence.”

“Oh, I’m going into defence?”

“Yeah.”

Louis tugs at her hemline. “Tell me, then. What you meant.”

They turn into their street. Liam’s walking her dog but doesn’t see them, too busy making sure it doesn’t take a piss against a bench. Both are gone by the time Harry manages to slip into a gap between two other cars. Their coat rustles as they cross their arms, cheek resting against the headrest to stare at Louis. She refuses to look into those green eyes, undoubtedly darkened by the sinking clouds and welling frustration.

They turn off the engine, the day much sharper now that they aren’t moving, now that the cold can slip through the cracks unhindered.

“Sometimes, I... Sometimes I feel, since we’ve moved in, that you’re distancing yourself. As if-.”

“What?” She asks sharply.

Harry brings up a hand to shush her, then rubs the same fingers across their brows, smoothing them out. Part of their face is still hidden when they say: “I just. Louis, do you regret moving in together?”

Her first instinct is to cry. Forcefully, she suppresses that urge. “Never,” she says. “God, Love.”

She frees herself of the belt, then reaches across the gearshift to clutch at Harry’s wrist, pulls it away to bore her own gaze into theirs. “This is the most exciting thing that has happened to me – well, ah, apart from getting my degree maybe,” - they grin - “but I could never regret this, I’m so grateful-. Baby. I’m just-...”

The rings are cold against her knuckles, but their fingers slot into hers easily, and she brings them up to kiss them, lips to soft skin, then bitter metal. “It’s not that, I promise.”

Behind Harry’s head, above the rooftops, the setting sun is swallowed by a sheet of clouds. Suddenly everything is much darker, grey around the edges. She wants Harry to ask. Harry asks. “What is it? Why do you feel like the world is ending?”

Louis exhales, closes her eyes. Keeps her mouth on Harry’s fingers. “It’s a mix of things. This is all new and weird, and like. We don’t even have pans, right? It feels like we’re not... like we’re not prepared for this, and I know we are, or at least I know we will be, but-… what if we won’t be able to communicate properly? When you’re, like, all indulgent and patient when I do something stupid that’s so-… we need to be able to talk about things.”

“Okay, I know I just said that you’ve only done this twice, but in this case you were the one running away.”

They don’t draw back their hand, but it twitches against her lips. She inhales. Then opens her eyes and frowns. “Because you just left the room in the middle of the talk!”

“Oh my god, I just wanted to cool off, not lock myself in.”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind you being angry -”

“I just don’t think yelling helps, Lou.”

And that. That evokes memories of the both of them talking about their parents, sharing their pain, promising each other they’d be better one day. “Fuck,” she says, squeezing their hand. “I know. Fuck, I know that, okay? And I realise that I'm basically being non-communicative about communicating-”

“Oh, do ya?”

Louis mirrors Harry’s huffed laugh. “Yes. I’m just worried.”

Harry detangles their fingers, and for a moment Louis is scared shitless but then she remembers that they’re in love and that this isn’t their first big fight and that it’s completely irrational to think they’d split up over this.

Harry sweeps a hand through their curls. “I get that, I so get that.”

“Yeah?”

“Obviously.”

It’s getting cold, so fucking cold, despite the warm flutter of relief in her chest, so she unlocks the door. “Let’s get upstairs and keep talking over that hot cocoa, yeah? My toes are freezing.”

“Who’s stupid enough to leave the house in nothing but a jumper anyway?”

“Oi!,” she says, but she gets out with a grin and waits for them to round the car before running off, thumbing over her key. They make it up to their flat with playful grumbles and mirth in their eyes, boots leaving muddy sludges on the floor before they wipe them on the welcoming mat they bought together.

It smells strange inside. Not uncomfortably so – just different. One doesn’t usually notice the scent of one’s home. But now, after the tangy cold and oily coffee shop, it’s a dusty sweetness, infused with the soup they had for lunch. When they turn on the lights, everything seems muted still.

She exhales.

“What?” Harry whispers, coming up behind her when Louis doesn’t move to take off her shoes. They drape themselves over her back, coat now gone, jumper against jumper.

Louis leans back, nosing up their neck, inhaling their scent. Kissing them clumsily, spine twisting. Their lips are cold and dry, but as soon as their tongues meet, it gets wet and warm, even the tip of her fingers are heating up. She drags them across Harry’s skin, slipping into their damp curls, tugging at them. Then she laughs.

“What?” Harry asks again, cheeks pink and eyes bright.

“I just had the cheesiest thought.”

They pout, crushing her against their chest. “Tell me,” they draw out, nipping at her bottom lip.

A slight bitterness from the tea Louis had drunk at the coffee shop must cling to their taste buds, must be the reason why Harry sighs in surprise. But they keep prodding at her mouth, sucking at the tip of her tongue. “It smells like almost-home.”

“Almost-home?” Harry repeats, a brow raised and a dimple present. “God, that’s so fucking cheesy.”

“Told you.”

“Mmhm, you did.”

Louis takes in the quiet around them, the colours of their jackets and coats lined up by the wall, the mess on the table by the mirror, the bowl awaiting the key in her hands. There is always _something_ about offering your heart to your lover in your shared flat at 4pm. A thrill. The healing of a crack in the monotonous pavement of everyday life.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't psychoanalyse me, thanks! tumblr is @pattern-pals


End file.
